"

"What have I done, I'd like to know?" exclaimed the prisoner. "It was
not my fault that your house was burned and your mother and you placed
in danger of your lives. It was a mistake."

"Was it a mistake when you crept to my camp the other night and fired at
me as I lay sleeping beside the fire?" demanded the boy, sternly.

The red flush left the prisoner's cheek then. "What--what do you mean?"
he gasped.

"You know well what I mean. See here!" Enoch showed him the hole in the
breast of his coat. "That was made by your bullet."

"The boy's life is charmed!" muttered Halpen.

"You had much better have used your gun-stock, Master Halpen. You would
have been surer to kill me then."

At this an expression of positive terror came into the prisoner's
features. "I am not a murderer," he exclaimed. "You are mistaken if you
think that I fired at you."

"It is true I cannot prove it," Enoch replied. "But something else I can
prove." He advanced a step nearer to the man. "Do you remember where you
hid the moose hoofs, Simon Halpen?"

The prisoner shrank back against the tree and his eyes fairly glared up
at the youth. "You--you----" he gasped.

"Yes. They are found. We now know how my poor father was killed. And you
were seen running from the place with his blood upon your clothes and
upon your gun. Even your Albany courts would punish you for that!" Then
the boy, unable to trust himself longer in the presence of the man who
had so injured him, hastily left the spot.

[Illustration: PUNISHMENT WAS NEAR AT HAND]

And the prisoner--how did he feel while tied to that tree, waiting for
the judgment which was to fall upon him for his crimes? No human being
but the criminal himself can ever appreciate half the agony of the
condemned. It was long since discovered that the gift of speech was
given man to conceal his thoughts. To the man of strong will the face is
a mask to conceal his feelings. And Simon Halpen was not a weakling. He
may have betrayed some emotion when accused by Enoch; it was a small
part only of what he felt.

He saw now, as plainly as he saw the lengthening shadows about him, that
punishment for his crimes was near. These stern woodsmen, whose plan for
attacking Ticonderoga he had discovered, were in no mood to trifle with
him. And what Enoch had told him was an assurance that though he might
live to be brought before a court of justice, he must stand trial for
his crimes. Neither political influence